


but break my heart; for i must hold my tongue

by Eclaire-de-Lune (RoyalHeather)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Ep. 68 spoilers, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/Eclaire-de-Lune
Summary: When did it start, Vax’ildan? When you found your mother’s charred corpse among the wreckage of your home? When you saw Pike, impaled on a demon’s claw? Or is it now, with Percival lying on the ground among glittering shards of glass. Maybe now is when it starts, or perhaps it completes, the slow petrification of Vax’s soul.





	

When did it start, Vax’ildan? When you found your mother’s charred corpse among the wreckage of your home? When you saw Pike, impaled on a demon’s claw? Or was it when you felt your own life slipping away at the hands of the Briarwoods? When you discovered Shaun Gilmore underground, broken and bleeding, so drained you didn’t think he could ever come back? Or how about when you crouched over Vex’s cold and lifeless body in the damp dimness of an underwater temple, icy fingers gripping your soul? Was it when you saw the indomitable Grog collapse into the snow like a puppet with its strings cut? Was it in battle as you watched Keyleth rise and fall and rise again?

Or is it now, with Percival lying on the ground among glittering shards of glass, bleeding from the mouth, the slashes across his chest, the bullet wound in his heart. With his glasses askew, face slack, eyes half-open. One hand lying limp and half-curled at his side, pistol lying useless a foot away. 

Maybe now is when it starts, or perhaps it completes, the slow petrification of Vax’s soul. 

They return to Whitestone, lay Percy’s body on his bed; no one has the heart to bring him down to the catacombs. Cassandra stares down at her dead brother like she can see through him, face the color of bone. 

“He was very brave,” says Keyleth, voice shaking, and reaches out to straighten Percy’s glasses on his nose. Her fingers shake as well.

In Vex’s room, Vax sits next to her on the bed, watches as the tears drip down her cheeks and nose, her hand gripping his. He watches in silence; he cannot speak, there is a heavy stone pressing down on his tongue.

“I love - I loved him,” hiccups Vex, and sobs. 

Vax’s fingers tighten on hers until it hurts. “I know.” 

Leaning over, she presses her face into his shoulder and cries, silently, shoulders trembling. Vax leans his cheek against her hair that smells of gunpowder and pine, does not let go of her. 

“Here,” he says eventually, and pulls out the small bottle Allura gave him. “Why don’t you take this?”

Vex eyes it suspiciously through tear-filled eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s to help you sleep.” 

Her lips twist down. “I don’t want to.” 

“Please, Stubby. For me. It’ll help.” 

She obeys, childlike. Vax watches her sink into sleep, making sure the even rise and fall of her ribs does not cease. Tucking the blanket around Vex’s shoulders, he leans over and gives her a kiss on the forehead, brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. He leaves silently.

Keyleth is sitting on her own bed, staring out the dark window, knees drawn up against her chest. When Vax opens the door wider she jumps and turns around, face pale in the gloom. “Vax,” she whispers, tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks.

Without a word he sinks onto the bed next to her. Keyleth immediately turns into his arms, clinging, and Vax holds her as she screams and cries herself hoarse, one hand knotted in his tunic over his breaking heart. 

Eventually Keyleth shudders into quiet, lying limp in Vax’s arms. He strokes her hair once, twice, rests his chin on her head. “It’s my fault,” she says, broken.

“No -”

“If I’d had - if I’d had more spells, if I’d healed him better -”

“Keyleth,” he says, taking her face in his hands so she has to look at him, “you did all you could. Believe me.”

Her eyes are wide and wet, faintly reflecting the light from the rising sun. “I should have done more.”

She could have, if Keinan hadn’t stabbed her. If Vax had persuaded him better. If he’d never turned him away in the first place. “We need to rest,” says Vax. 

“We probably should,” she agrees. 

Vax waits until Keyleth is asleep and then slips out of bed, carefully, quietly. She stirs restlessly but does not wake. 

His chest hurts, and his face feels numb. 

The light and air are chill as Vax wanders down into the town, hood cast over his face. Buildings in the dawn sunlight look unreal, too precise, and the few people walking about are as removed from him as ghosts. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flicker of black feathers, a smooth white face.

 _Are you going to help?_  he asks. No response. _Then fuck off._

She is gone.

The house he finds himself in front of is familiar enough. The door opens before he can even knock, and there stands Gilmore, dressed in a robe, hair rumpled, a broad smile on his haggard face. “Vax’ildan! You’re back!” he pronounces, arms outspread. And then, as he takes in Vax’s demeanor, his face and arms fall. “What’s happened?”

“Percy,” croaks Vax, hoarse as a raven.

Color fades from under Gilmore’s brown skin. “Dead?”

Vax doesn’t say anything, just stares dully at Gilmore and sways slightly where he stands. As Gilmore looks him over, sadness softens and creases his face. “Come inside,” he says, gently. 

Gilmore leads him in the house, into the sitting room, where Vax just stands there, shivering. For once Gilmore seems at a loss as to what to do. “I’ll make some tea,” he says. “Or coffee?”

Vax just looks at him. “Maybe something stronger,” amends Gilmore.

He’s not really conscious of time passing; Gilmore leaves, at some point Vax sits, and at another point later Gilmore reappears with a mug of something steaming and sweet-smelling that he places in Vax’s hands. Vax drinks mechanically; it scalds his tongue, too hot to taste. “I’m so sorry,” says Gilmore, half-sitting on the table by him. Vax sets the mug on the table, looks up to see Gilmore’s eyes damp as well. “Truly.”

It takes Vax a second to find his voice. “I know.”

“If there’s anything I can do...” 

“Can you bring him back?”

“That is beyond my capabilities,” says Gilmore, very sadly, very quietly.

Vax knew; he knew that before he asked, knew that if Percy were to return, he would have already done so. “Then what else can I ask for?”

It’s not a question that needs an answer. Gilmore doesn’t offer one; instead, he reaches down and takes Vax’s hands in his. Vax hangs on, like it’s an anchor, like Gilmore can keep him tethered through the swirling black maelstrom. It hurts, it hurts more than he wants to admit but he doesn’t care anymore (Gilmore is safe, Gilmore understands, Gilmore doesn’t need him to be strong), and Vax finds himself slowly crumpling in on himself, hunching around his aching core until his head is pressed to their conjoined hands. 

He’s not empty anymore; he’s full of a burning pain worse than any curse or attack, his chest hurts, his throat hurts, hot tears prickle his eyes, and he keeps thinking about _Percy_ , replaying the moment Ripley’s bullet struck his flesh as if he can redo it, this time, _this time_ he can make it different, he can change the past... 

An aching cry tears out of him, and he hangs onto Gilmore for dear life. 

“Vax,” murmurs Gilmore, and there’s the soft sound of fabric as he slips off the table to kneel in front of Vax. Head bowed to his knees, Vax swallows hard and tries to pretend there aren’t tears staining his own face. “Oh, my dear...” 

He lets out a shuddering breath. 

Warm fingers brush over Vax’s head, sinking gently into his hair. “I know,” Gilmore murmurs, hanging onto both of Vax’s hands with one of his. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Vax shakes and sighs, clinging to Gilmore until his bones ache. “Stay.”

“I’m right here, dear heart,” he says, still running his fingers through Vax’s hair. “I’m not leaving you.” 

“Why not?” rasps Vax, raising his head. Gilmore looks profoundly sad. “Everyone else does.” 

Gilmore doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking sad, one hand cupping the back of Vax’s head. “Who’s everyone?” he asks.

“My mother.” Vax swallows back more tears. “Pike. Ve - Vex’ahlia. Grog. Keyleth. You. Per - Per -” His voice shakes too much to finish the name.  

“I’m here, Vax,” says Gilmore. “I’m not going anywhere.” The corner of his mouth quirks in a weary smile. “They already tried to kill me once. I won’t let it happen again.” His fingers slide down Vax’s neck, pause on the raven feathers in his collar. “You’re no stranger to death yourself.” 

Vax doesn’t know how to articulate that, _can’t_  articulate that. Shaking his head, he leans his forehead back down on their hands again.

Gilmore sighs something, an endearment in Marquetian that Vax doesn’t understand. “I know,” he says again, heartache in his voice. “I know. I’m here.”


End file.
